


Third First Dates and Periwinkle Milkshakes

by beamirang



Series: The King is Dead (Long Live the King?!) [3]
Category: Roswell New Mexico (TV 2019)
Genre: Alien Abduction, Carnival, Civil War, Dorks in Love, First Dates, Fluff, Idiots in Love, M/M, Michael is a King, Royalty, Third First Dates, Third dates, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, alex is a little shit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-03
Updated: 2019-06-03
Packaged: 2020-04-07 07:05:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,267
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19079959
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beamirang/pseuds/beamirang
Summary: Turns out that Alex hasn't left the palace walls in five years.





	Third First Dates and Periwinkle Milkshakes

**Author's Note:**

> I promised fluff to a collective group of people, so here be fluff. 
> 
> It's short, but I only had an hour to spare, so please forgive me!

There’s something ironic about their first date.

Technically it’s their third first date. They’ve had one way back when, when they were young and innocent and sharing a milkshake was the height of teenage romance. They’ve had that night at the drive-in, their fingers brushing innocently when they reached for the same beer in the dark.

Now, they have this, and it’s a graduation from teenage sweethearts to hopeless idiots to _handholding_. Yep. Michael can die happily: Alex Manes is holding his hand. _In public._

He’s not even holding Michael’s hand to stop him running off like an excited child. No. _He’s_ the one who needs reigning in. Alex, in the short time it’s taken them to leave the palace and enter the carnival being held atop purple cliffs and overlooking a gemstone sapphire sea, has gone from stone cold snark to wide-eyed enthusiasm. He talks Michael’s ear off, impatiently tugging his hand like a demanding child when Michael is stopped by yet another of his brand new and adoring subjects who want to give him the proverbial pat on the back.

They aren’t actually allowed to pat him on the back. Michael’s got no problem with it, but the head of his royal guard goes maroon every time someone even sneezes in his general direction, so for the sake of everyone's stress levels, they're vetoing the back patting.

So here’s Michael and Alex on their third first date, flanked by some of the most well trained and overprotective assholes on the planet, and Tansley, who doesn’t give much of a damn if Michael is murdered so long as he overturns the laws he promised he would before he kicks the bucket.

It occurs to Michael that Alex has never been outside the palace walls. Not once in over five years. On the surface, Alex seems okay with that, but he’s an active, adventurous wanderer at heart and that’s probably more Stockholm Syndrome than anything. Now they’re outside the gilded, gleaming walls, his eyes have grown impossibly wide as they dart from side to side, taking in the brilliant colors and sounds of the Capital.

They’re an odd couple. Michael, the newly conquering King and Alex, the human that brought the war to their doorstep.

After five years, the city is ready to celebrate and the carnival is where most of the action seems to be unfolding.

It’s what passes for Summer, so Michael has forgone the heavy black armor he’s spent the last few years practically living in and allowed himself to be dressed in the least flashy of the multiple options presented to him. His shirt is cream, spun so fine it feels like a lover’s touch against his skin and decorated with tendrils of blue and green that twist themselves into the sigil of the Royal Household. Tucked somewhere under his curls, a thick golden band rests against his forehead.

He doesn’t carry it off with half the casual confidence and grace that Alex carried his smaller circlet.

Only it turns out that little adornment isn't to say ‘ _hey, look how pretty I am_ ’ and is instead an indicator to anyone looking that Alex is the property of the Royal Household.

Hence the not leaving the palace in five years.

Hence Michael genuinely contemplating the idea of getting Max to resurrect one very dead fucker just so he can kill his ass all over again.

Alex isn’t wearing it now. He is still wearing a tunic embroidered with the same sigil as Michael’s and that’s enough to make him feel kinda sick about everything. Still, even without a circlet of gold, or any of the more obvious trappings of Royalty, he still manages to look far less out of place than Michael feels.

He’s also lined his eyes in gold and cobalt blue, so there’s that.

A carnival on Antar isn’t much different from one on Earth. People laugh and sing and dance. There’s music, and food and the only real noticeable upgrade is that the fire dancers conjure flames with their fingers, the musicians enchant sweet tunes from thin air, and one guy starts juggling twenty frozen treats all in the one hand.

Alex drags Michael towards the excitement, a gasp of awe as periwinkle lights dance in the air and the music weaves a visible trail of delight around the bodies dancing to the beat.

In one of Michael’s darker moments, one full of bitterness and anger and something too close to hate for comfort, he’d begrudged Alex the fact that he’d made it to Antar long before Michael ever got the chance.

Now, knowing what things are, where they come from and even some of the history behind them, he looks back and hopes that _this_ is the reason he felt that much rage. Getting to hold Alex’s hand and show him all the sights and sounds and wonders and _delights_ of his homeworld is possibly the best thing that’s ever happened to him.

“You have got to try this,” Michael announces, spotting a small vendor serving frothy drinks and pulling Alex away from three Antarians making music out of shimmering bubbles.

Michael has more money on Antar - King thing aside - than he ever had on Earth, so typically it’s now that the woman serving gasps in horror when Michael tries to pay her for two lurid blue drinks.

“I couldn’t possibly!” she flails, then launches into a speech about how pleased she is that he’s now King - and could he possibly look into the trade tariffs his predecessors have imposed on them for the past hundred years, please and thank you ever so much.

Michael promises her he will while Alex eyes the bubbling, frothing drink he’s passed with wary curiosity.

“It’s safe for humans, right?” Michael checks

“Of course, Sire!” She looks thoroughly offended at the suggestion that drinking her creation might accidentally kill her new King’s Alex.

Alex shrugs, takes a sip, and immediately starts to giggle.

Michael stares. He’s _never_ heard Alex giggle. Not once. Not _ever_.

“It tickles!” He laughs, slipping his hand back into Michael’s. They leave the vendor with the promise of a Royal Warrant because anything that can pry any kind of sound of delight from Alex needs to be on permanent supply.

“Closest thing I’ve found to a milkshake out here,” Michael grins. Alex is already halfway through his, so he takes only small sips, fully intending to see Alex finish both drinks.

Fucking giggles.

“I might start to like this planet,” Alex says, licking his bottom lip to remove a small cluster of foamy bubbles from the corner of his mouth.

Michael trips over air.

Thirteen different guards have a collective panic attack and rush to catch him before he collides face first with the floor.

They’re beaten by Alex, who steadies him with a smile. “Since when have you been clumsy, Guerin?” he asks.

“Can I kiss you?” Michael says by way of an answer. _Smooth, Geurin, super fucking smooth._

“Depends,” Alex says, looking thoughtful.

Michael squares his shoulders, ready to fight any and all necessary opponents to procure Alex whatever the hell it is that he wants. “On?”

“If we can ride on the coster,” he says, pointing up at the maze of clear wires and tracks that spin out from the top of the cliff and defend all the way to the ocean below. “Apparently it goes underwater!”

Significantly less bloody than murder. Also, less time-consuming.

Michael beams and levitates from pure happiness. “Twice,” he promises.

As third first dates go, they’re off to a pretty good start.


End file.
